Motorcycle Class

What do you call a doctor that passes medical school with all D's? We still call them a doctor.

That's how I feel about me and my motorcycle class. After I completed the course, the Department of Motor Vehicles says that I know the basics of how to operate a two wheel vehicle with a 50cc or larger engine. Even though I passed their test, I really don't know why they let me; I AM NOT SAFE ON THE ROAD! I'm not even remotely close!

Throughout the riding portion of the class, I kept stalling my Kawasaki. I never learned how to drive manual on a car and let me tell you, riding a motorcycle is much tougher. Not only is there this 'clutch' and 'shifting' required, but you also have to worry about balancing a 350 pound bike.
I had no previous concept of balancing the clutch, throttle, or how to manually shift. Throughout the first day of riding, I was easily the worst guy to be around. I kept stalling whenever we stopped and my engine could always be heard roaring above the other motorcycles since I hated switching to higher gears. My foot kept missing the shift and in order to reach a higher gear, you have to tediously switch through neutral to get to second. Everyone was very patient and by the end of the day, I was doing all right.

We learned and practiced everything from the basics of starting up a motorcycle to advanced topics like how to brake while cornering. The one that had me a bit nervous was when we rode over large pieces of wood on our bikes.

By the end of the course, I had seen my first motorcycle 'accident'. It wasn't what I expected at all. I expected someone to take a spill on a sharp corner where the motorcycle and driver goes scraping against the asphalt across several yards and finally rolls to a dead stop. (And partly I expected that person to be me)

Well, it turned out to be quite the opposite (and thankfully not me). I was behind the unfortunate student on an exercise to practice quick motorcycle braking. The guy revved up his engine, started zooming along a straight line, shifted to second, and quickly braked hard when the instructor gave the sign.

The bike abruptly stopped similar to a car slamming hard on the brakes. The only difference is that the car has four tires to stabilize itself, whereas the bike managed to fully stop, yet the balance wasn't maintained. As if in slow motion, the bike fell slowly to the left. The rider extended his foot, but the power of the stop must have caught him off guard as he and his bike slowly hit the floor. (The student had bought motorcycle armor so he walked off fine; it was also a very slow fall)

Our final test started with a couple tight U-turns in a small box, swerving and changing paths, quick braking, and basic cornering. Again, all of us passed, but I don't know how. I easily rolled outside the box while doing the U-turns and if it were a real life situation, my abrupt stopping speed would likely land me into another car's rear window. Hmm.. maybe I'll check out scooters.

When we left the course, I saw the guy who had fallen and dropped his bike. The reason why he had motorcycle armor was because he already owned a motorcycle and that's how he got to class...

I guess it's no joke that California let's anyone get a license.

100% Hippy?

Despite the hair cut, I still feel as hippy as ever. Since we moved here, Adrienne and I have made it a tradition to visit the local Farmer's market every weekend to support the local farmers and to buy inexpensive, good food. Farmer's market is only a few blocks away so there really is no excuse for us not to go.

Last week I tried a large spicy beef gyro that reminded me of when we went backpacking through Europe. This week I got a little carried away and tried a hearty British chicken curry pie, a well seasoned and beautifully grilled chicken kabob, and some sweet Thai coconut milk pancakes (rice flour, coconut milk, sugar and salt). Along with tasting the prepared food, we also bought basic ingredients that Adrienne's been turning into fancy delicious meals throughout the week! :)

Ok, maybe Farmer's Market isn't really that hippy, but it sure makes me happy. Whenever I pass by the makeshift tents, I get a certain sense of peace that's attributed to the stereotypical carefree and stressless hippy. Shortly after putting our groceries back home, we walked over to Balboa Park to celebrate Earth Day with 50,000+ of our San Diegan neighbors. Since Balboa Park was only a mile away from our house, it was only a simple walk for us. Within traveling two blocks, we immediately saw congested traffic and were once again thankful for where we lived.

The event was already gathering crowds of people and throughout the rest of the day, Earth Day sent two very different messages. The large signs, the laminated pictures, and the text on the brochures claimed how organization X was protecting and saving the environment. However, when one just looked past the messages and looked simply on the ground we stood on, you could see an entirely different message of empty wrappers and discarded fliers.

Now I'm not saying this is the fault of the organizations. No, I just find it sad that some San Diegans don't manage to see the true meaning behind Earth Day. They either picked up information packets knowing full well they wouldn't read them when they got home or they somehow couldn't connect Earth Day to recycling the wrappers from the food that they just bought.

They seemed too caught up with trying out meatless BBQ ribs or visiting the familiar Ben and Jerry Ice Cream stands located every 30 feet apart. Before I could create more judgemental thoughts, we met up with one of Adrienne's friends (and her parents) to explore the rest of the park. With the good company, my mind didn't dwell on the negative thinking.

We witnessed everything from pure electrical cars to organizations focused on saving our wildlife foundations. There were rock to reggae concerts, food courts, people simply lying around, and even some that were boldly and publicly celebrating 4/20 in true 420 style. There was one thing that I didn't expect though...

Just past the Clif bar stand and right before the political activists tents stood a large group of people holding picket signs. I walked in for a closer inspection and read the large billboard "WARNING: Protect Your Children - Gruesome Images Ahead: The following protesters are not part of Earth Day and have refused to leave".

Hmm.. who would put up gruesome images at a public event? Heck, just 30 yards away, there were Jedis and Stormtroopers putting aside their petty differences to pose for pictures with all the kids. Can you believe that; even Stormtroopers, representatives of the evil Galactic Empire, had a heart and thought about the kids first!

I walked over to see who was holding up the signs. There were people holding up pictures of half aborted children and even a group claiming that all worshipers of Islam were part of a political movement and that Islam is truly not a religion. I didn't even know what to say so I'll just type a bunch of dots...........................................

I wish I could describe their lack of respect or their ignorance better, but I really have trouble coming up with articulate words. I really think there is no hope for those people so let me throw in a few more dots...

As we were walking home, I decided that I wasn't a true hippy. I might have stopped looking the part after my hair cut, but even before then I knew I was way too judgmental of others. I'm definitely all for peace and loving, free speech, and anti-government, but at that moment when I saw the protectors holding up their ignorant signs... I would have no problems looking the other way if someone slapped some sense into them.

Hair - A world apart

"Hey, he could cut hair." Trevor pointed towards a Tongan walking by his restaurant. "Malo e lelei, fefe hake?" I asked. The Tongan turned around and responded "Sai auptio!" After some small talk, I finally asked if the person wouldn't mind giving me a hair cut then and there at Trevor's restaurant. He happily agreed. Luckily Trevor had a pair of scissors and a comb handy. That was my last hair cut, which was well over a year ago...

That is until this past weekend. I measured my hair; it met the 8 inches minimum necessary for donation. I decided it was time to get a hair cut! Besides, the weather was warming up, not to mention the fact that I was finding enough leftover hair around the house to suspect a small phantom dog was hiding somewhere. Adrienne must have noticed my 'shedding' because within minutes, she had a list of salons nearby. A quick call later and I found myself sitting in a salon with my hair tied neatly in two long braids.

As the remaining pieces of my hair fell, I had the opportunity to view the bustling and very fashionable salon through its reflection. Even though it was my first time in a salon, it wasn't the hair wash, the massage, or the facial that fascinated me the most. I still couldn't believe that last year, I pulled a random stranger off the street to help me cut my hair...

Love Adrienne!!!!

Hey! I love Adrienne. She's so hottttttt =)

Note: This may or may not have been written by Adrienne

My spider senses are tingling!

After moving into our new place on Sunday, Adrienne and I noticed that our apartment felt as cold as a cave! (Consider this a warning to all potential visitors! Our place is now dubbed "The Bunker")

Normally I would laugh and mock my girlfriend's inability to generate body heat while I would sleep warm and snuggly. This time I even felt cold so I decided that something had to be done immediately and that this was no joking matter.

I looked at the bunker's aging gas heater, wondering how to operate it. Where do I log in? Where's the power switch? Man, I wish I wasn't out sick laying on the ground drooling on myself when the landlord showed us the place.

With my numb fingers, I tried to ignite the fire with the small switches. We would try to turn the knob from an ignited pilot switch to the "ON" position, but with each attempt the fire would just die out. After numerous attempts, we finally understood how it worked. I just need to light the fire while pumping the gas! The heater rattled alive and we quickly rejoiced as our fingers regained sensation. We had conquered this ancient technology with our mighty brains of the future!!

Still, the heater was warming up too slowly for our impatient bodies so we pulled up our mattress next to the heater. We laid out blankets and I quickly fell asleep with only a small headache and sinuses, naively thinking that I'd be ready for work the next day.

I woke up worse. I called in sick. Adrienne had a sore throat, but left the Bunker early to take care of shopping and help clean up the remainder of our old apartment (she's so sweet!).

Throughout the day, I kept waking up feeling a bit worse. At 7 p.m., my body instinctively told me that I had to get away from the Bunker and get some much needed fresh air. I also secretly wanted some Kung Pao chicken. Even though I had been resting all day, it wasn't doing me much good. The more I slept, the more I felt.. tired.

When I stood up, my head become instantly dizzy and throbbed with pain. It was like I had a midget in my head kicking me every time I tried to get up. For the first time in a long while, I felt the surging sensation to throw up. I climbed the stairs leading to our apartment and was barely able to stop myself from puking all over my neighbor's plants. (I heard in some cultures, that's how you properly greet your new neighbors?)

A couple more blocks brought me to the local Henry's market. They didn't have any ibuprofen or Kung Pao Chicken), but my nausea was starting to disappear even without it. I started feeling remarkably better by the mere act of walking around and getting fresh air. After traveling a little less than a mile, I found a Ralph's that had some Advil.

Adrienne and I returned home pretty much at the same time. She had gone shopping at Bed Bath and Beyond, Home Depot, and Target. She bought everything from color complimenting bathroom rugs to a carbon monoxide detector. She went on about how this color would match with this color, but my headache still drowned out her voice.

I had joked on the first night that we would die from carbon monoxide poisoning during our first night in the bunker. Since it was an invisible and odorless gas that caused death, we wouldn't know that that we were even dying! Adrienne didn't sleep so well after that joke. She couldn't find the humor in it (just like most of my Peace Corps friends couldn't find the humor in a falling coconut related death)

As soon as I plugged in the carbon monoxide tester, 4 high pitched squeals went off. Ouch, it hurt my ear!!! Moments later, another 4 chirps went off in quick succession. I looked at the instructions. 4 quick chirps mean that there is a harmful amount of carbon monoxide. Oh shit. As quickly as we moved our mattresses towards the loving warmth of the Bunker's friendly heater, we just as quickly opened our windows and pulled our mattresses from the invisible cloud of death.

With the carbon monoxide releasing into the open environment, we hoped that our new (and fairly distant) neighbors wouldn't catch a wiff of death mixed into their dinners. Due to the large amount of foilage, we doubt it would travel far (according to my Non-existing...Limited... well read knowledge about how lethal gases would dissipate through the air into non lethal doses). Ok, now with perfect hindsight, maybe we should have warned them and called 911. (Though we figured it was ok since the alarm stopped crying at us) At least I didn't throw up in their plants.

I learned a couple of very important lessons after all of this. Sure, you should be really careful about old gas heaters. However, you should really be on the lookout for danger if you ever have a craving for Kung-pao chicken.

Moving in

This past weekend I moved.

At first, I had a nice and simple plan for our move. I like simple plans; the pieces come together so easily. My plan involved only a few trips of Adrienne, me, and my small pickup truck. We wouldn't need a U-Haul since we were only moving 30 miles and we weren't going to bother our friends since we had so little stuff; I also hate asking people for things (it's something that I know I should work on). Since we didn't 'need' the help, we didn't ask for it. I figured that moving our stuff wouldn't really be a logistical problem.

Then I started having the sniffles on Wednesday night. People asked if I was taking medicine for the cold. I thought "Nah, let me try to fight this one out naturally by just drinking lots of water... ooh, and eating a burger. I have a craving for a juicy burger with swiss cheese!" My body is tough; after all, I'm young!

By Thursday afternoon, I had to go home early from work and ditch my Spanish class to rest up. I decided that maybe hamburgers weren't such a good idea and that I would try drinking more water, still keep my greasy meals, but add in vitamins into the formula to help balance out the bad.

That didn't work either and Friday sent me home early with a slight fever and sore eyes. By Saturday morning, my eyes felt like I was back in college trying to catch up on a semesters worth of reading at the last minute. My body felt cold, random, dull pains all over; the pains felt like Karma poking at me for eating that hamburger and thinking that I was above modern science and medicine.

The pain wouldn't go away, despite how much rest I got. On Saturday morning, we had our walk through of the apartment. In a normal walk through, tenants would have to sign all the necessary paperwork and point out the apartment flaws so that they are not held responsible for any preexisting flaws. Well, I was literally sprawled on the ground with my sunglasses and hoodie pulled over my head, trying not to drool on myself. I couldn't concentrate on anything and could barely put my signature on the papers. (As if legalwork wasn't boring enough, amirite?!)

I didn't see the landlord when she walked away to do the rest of the walk through with Adrienne, but I'm sure she must've had second doubts about renting the place to us. Here we were, two pretty young adults, both fairly new out of college, and the person with the only source of income was lying asleep on the hardwood floor drooling on himself. Somehow, the landlord trusted us with the keys...

Now that we had the keys, my simple plan wasn't going to work. I was sick. Although there wasn't that much stuff, there was no way Adrienne could pack, load, and unload all our stuff herself. With some last minute phone calls, we had a few friends come over on Sunday and lend a helping hand! I started to get feel better and by late Sunday, I was back to lifting things myself.

As we plopped all our stuff into our new apartment, we wanted to say that it's nice to be able to count on friends when you need them. Thanks guys.